“Ye-es!” stammered Mrs. Effingham, not understanding what he was talking about.

“Well,” answered Mr. McKeever, “we never refuse collateral.  I’ll put the bonds with the note—­” His eye caught the edges of the bundle.  “Great Scott, Tutt!  What are you leaving all these bonds here for against that note?  There must be nearly a hundred thousand dol—­”

“I thought you never refused collateral, Mr. McKeever!” challenged Mr. Tutt sternly.

Twenty minutes later the exquisite blonde that acted as Mr. Badger’s financial accomplice learned from Mrs. Effingham’s faltering lips that the widow would like to see the great man in regard to further investments.

“How does it look, Mabel?” inquired the financier from behind his massive mahogany desk covered with a six by five sheet of plate glass.  “Is it a squeal or a fall?”

“Easy money,” answered Mabel with confidence.  “She wants to put a mortgage on the farm.”

“Keep her about fourteen minutes, tell her the story of my philanthropies, and then shoot her in,” directed Badger.

So Mrs. Effingham listened politely while Mabel showed her the photographs of Mr. Badger’s home for consumptives out in Tyrone, New Mexico, and of his wife and children, taken on the porch of his summer home at Seabright, New Jersey; and then, exactly fourteen minutes having elapsed, she was shot in.

“Ah!  Mrs. Effingham!  Delighted!  Do be seated!” Mr. Badger’s smile was like that of the boa constrictor about to swallow the rabbit.

“About my oil stock,” hesitated Mrs. Effingham.

“Well, what about it?” demanded Badger sharply.  “Are you dissatisfied with your twenty per cent?”

“Oh, no!” stammered the old lady.  “Not at all!  I just thought if I could only get the note paid off at the Mustardseed Bank I might ask you to sell the collateral and invest the proceeds in your gusher.”

“Oh!” Mr. Badger beamed with pleasure.  “Do you really wish to have me dispose of your securities for you?”

He did not regard it as necessary to inquire into the nature of the collateral.  If it was satisfactory to the Mustardseed National it must of course exceed considerably the amount of the note.

“Yes,” answered Mrs. Effingham timidly; and she handed him the letter dictated by Mr. Tutt.

“Well,” replied Mr. Badger thoughtfully, after reading it, “what you ask is rather unusual—­quite unusual, I may say, but I think I may be able to attend to the matter for you.  Leave it in my hands and think no more about it.  How have you been, my dear Mrs. Effingham?  You’re looking extraordinarily well!”

Mr. McKeever had about concluded his arrangements for welcoming the state bank examiner when the telephone on his desk buzzed, and on taking up the receiver he heard the ingratiating voice of Alfred Haynes Badger.

“Is this the Loan Department of the Mustardseed National?”